mugging. my brother once commented that it's a stupid word because it doesn't even have anything to do with studying. my brother has never used that word, and i may be wrong, but i find that only sec fours seem to use [and maybe over-use] that word continually.

but i began thinking, and maybe subconsciously we see how sweet and fitting this word is.

to mug is to rob. and you know what? i think that's exactly what we are doing. each time we memorize our facts, cold heartedly, trying to cram this information we hate into our minds we are shamelessly robbing the subject of its richness. do you think i really give a damn about how nuclear fission occurs? do you think i actually go on to think about sound waves when i listen to music? NO I DON'T CARE. all i know is that i need to MUG MUG MUG physics so i can pass it. and i want you to ask yourselves if that's what you're doing, too. i don't actually appreciate the beauty of this subject, given the circumstances i am in. if i were to read it leisurely, maybe pick up one of einstein's books, i might enjoy it. but for now, i hate it. i hate it. i hate it.

should we seriously be proud of how hard we are 'mugging'? i look at my additional mathematics book in disgust - we do papers, day in day out day in day out, not actually understanding what we're learning. why are we learning differentiation and integration? why?! what part of our life is it actually linked to? we don't bother to actually find out do we. we don't bother to do research on the history of mathematics and find which mathematician came up with the concept. all we know is that we have to master it to get, yes, to get THAT A1. after watching a beautiful mind, i was so inspired, so inspired. i wanted to know more about math, i wanted to look at the history of it, to learn REAL math. not just do math just because i have to do it.

and literature! and history! all we do is memorize quotes all day and the facts till we drop dead. do we really appreciate what is being imparted? do we detect the finer nuances of human nature? i can tell you a lot of people couldn't care less. in fact, they hate lit because ITS SO HARD TO SCORE. and it's this that disgusts me the most. we diminish ourselves and these subjects each time we 'mug'.

and people feel happy, they actually feel satisfied after 'mugging'. i have yet to understand why people tell me, 'mel, work. you'll feel so good after that.' because i don't. i don't think i ever will.

sure, maybe other people will feel happier than i when they receive their six points and i may not, but it is only temporary satisfaction. they live in ignorance of a world they have no time to discover because all they want to do is 'mug'. get that scholarship, get into that school, get that grade.

people, can we do some self reflection? yes, there i go again, railing on and on about how there is more to life than this. and you must think i'm a fool, and sometimes i think i'm a fool, because i get no where, because i'm close to a nobody in your eyes. i'm just some average [or even below average] student trying to make myself look better by saying studying doesn't matter - yep, that's what i am to you, aren't i?

i'm sad. because i'm in-between. i've made this my life, yet i'm not studying all that hard as people who have really made it their lives. and i'm so sick of being in between. i was telling myself that if i didn't get into hc i would go to ac because i wanted to be either the best or the worst. i didn't want to go somewhere in between like vj or nj. i'm just sick of being in limbo, and i don't know why. maybe because society doesn't really care for those in limbo, and maybe some part of me is yearning to go somewhere significant in the eyes of others, shallow as i may sound. BUT IF WE COULD JUST TAKE A STEP BACK AND ASK OURSELVES WHY. why am i doing this? why am i studying so hard? does it make me a better person? does this contribute to my emotional growth? does this really make me HAPPY? it's our love for the paper chase i suppose. and it's sad, it's so sad that i want to weep for humanity.

but maybe, i'm the sad one, and they should weep for me. though i think that in between their chemistry and their math papers they don't have time for that.

i know life is this way, i know the world works this way. but i just can't bring myself to accept it.

and right now you're probably thinking with a sigh, 'how stupid she is'. yes, how stupid i am to complain about this when i can do nothing about it. you are the smart ones who adapt and take advantage of the situation and make sure you stay on top. you are the wise ones. i'm the stupid one who will get no where - i'm the one who doesn't understand life at all. and in fact, it is because no one dares. all those muggers don't dare to complain, to break free, to do what others aren't doing. why? they complain, but they mug, because they want to have the best of both worlds. they want to be 'successful' yet they hate society. and does that make sense? putting ourselves through all this torture just so we can lead 'comfortable' lives? we have choices. we can choose not to. and everyday i make that choice not to break free - why? maybe i'm scared. we don't question, we have become like machines. who cares if we hate it, we always have to do things we don't like, SO JUST DO IT.

the fact is, we're the ones who made the world this way. there is no one to blame but ourselves. so i can only blame myself for not making that choice over and over and over again.

+ posted by M @ 10:59 PM

...	Thursday, October 16, 2003

wake up,mel.

when are you going to realize that not everyone is just like you? when are you going to realize the world doesn't revolve just around you? when are you going to start thinking before you shoot your mouth off about things you have no right discussing? when are you going to be more patient? when are you going to stop being so paranoid? and when are you going to realize people don't spend their entire lives doing or thinking of things pertaining to you? when are you going to realize not everyone is just so interested in what you have to say? when are you going to stop being so self centred and narcissistic?

when when when?

now you sit by yourself and think of what you've done.

+ posted by M @ 6:21 PM

...	Monday, October 13, 2003

more lifehouse, more bad kissing [clark-lana], more horses and field scenes, more obsession with kryptonite, more lying, lana and clark screwing things up for the billionth time, more clark-jonathan make ups and break ups, more chloe lashing, more of clark's life messing up and more of clark not turning up for anything important, basically. and so another season of smallville ends. out comes the red kryptonite. yes!

i really don't know why i bother. maybe i just liked it so much because they played two great songs on the first episode alone [wherever you will go - the calling mysong and everything - lifehouse].

anyway, isn't it just disgusting that lana's boyfriend died in war a year ago at most and here she is lying in the arms of clark kent who really, barely knows her, and acting like she hasn't a care in the world. i mean, seriously, its just pure lust. clark hasn't shown any interest in her whatsoever apart from wanting to get into her jeans [of course this isn't spelled out, but it's so obvious]. the only conversations they have consist of lana wanting clark to be honest and then end with either one walking away because of some stupid misunderstanding which usually has to do with red kryptonite.

they don't discuss john donne [who is, apparently, her favourite poet. see, even i know that, but mainly because its lit-related.], he doesn't know what her favourite colour is, she threw his flowers into the trash can and when he bought them he didn't even bother to find out what her favourite flower was, all they talk about now is 'how are we going to tell poor little chloe' and 'us'. yes, he keeps saying, 'i've been wanting this for so long.' what is 'this'! a ticket for you to officially make-out with her?

OH and one more thing. apparently clark's never celebrated his birthday before and lana was the first one to celebrate it with him. now isn't that strange. i know he is an alien and all but he lives with human parents. and martha being so so very loving and adoring would probably throw him a party any chance she got, even if it was just a tiny intra family one. wouldn't his good friends chloe and pete have ever thought of throwing a surprise party for him - sweet sixteen perhaps? apparently not. how sad, he has to go through life with no birthday celebrations because the producers of the show decided it would be more dramatic to have lana be the first one to celebrate it with him. then again, why should i attempt to add some realism to the show - it is about meteor rocks and aliens.

ugh. how gross how gross how gross. and same can be said with peter parker and mary jane watson. well, actually, no. i'm quite partial towards the both of them because - well, just because it's spiderman we're talking about.

why, oh why, is lex the-babe luthor married.

anyhow, i'm feeling slightly better now. it could be due to That 70s Show [i swear eric forman is just too cute] or it could be due to the fact that i've done nothing all day.

they're showing american beauty on sunday [PG version] on channel five. isn't that amazing.

good night.

+ posted by M @ 11:18 PM

...

Signs of prophecy, they mocked. An active imagination, her mother deliberated kindly.

But she knew what she saw, from the moment she shut her eyes at night, her back sinking into the sponge, as though she were laying upon another’s supple body, ready to accept the contour of her spine. Images of lovers, jealousy, nostalgia, murder and deceit. The images that flooded her mind were not those of rainbows or angels – this made it even harder to distinguish reality from dream when she awoke to the jarring noise of her alarm clock, and the powder blue uniform hanging on the knob of her closet door. Sometimes she wondered if another world would reveal itself to her, behind the dark recesses of her cupboard, behind the aged dresses she no longer wore and the dark coats kept for winter holidays which never came.

Her heart was seduced by these phantasmal interims, not just her eyes. She began to believe these stories she was in, and sometimes returned from them feeling the pangs of heartbreak. The line between dreams and reality was a mere projection of laser beam, thin and deadly as a poisoned needle. She often thought of crossing it, risking getting singed by the rays of pure energy; but once crossed, she may never be able to make her way back.

And that is what all humans fear – leaving behind the familiar.

[... what was i thinking? help, i can't finish it now. that's the problem with me. whenever i start stories, i find myself running out of content to fill the spaces in between.]

i think the problem with me is that i never dare to throw myself completely into a story. i am scared to give my heart, my very being to my writing, fearing i would return scarred from the tragedies which may come. for once i write, the scenes, the characters transfigure into things so real and become a part of me, just as a part of me was taken the minute i put pen to paper. a small bit of me is immortalized or incomplete in every poem i start and every essay i undertake. in turn, i dare not to bare my soul, even to myself, or maybe, especially to myself. there are certain parts of me i know are there but i wish to deny and put off discovering. and there are certain parts i fear to discover. poetry is when the soul is most naked, and most of the time, when i read my past writing, i grimace at the amount of myself i have exposed.

now what exactly triggered that immensely personal and morbid train of thought.. here i am, not in school and missing the acjc talk. i'm reading too much percy shelley and a.e housman for my own good. yes, love poetry! emily dickinson and robert herrick indeed. how i wish to be romanced by such poets, in the form of secret notes and scented manuscripts. but never will i find a boy with ink-stained hands and enough sense to know it is best to chase a girl with shakespeare's sonnets and not his own [okay, i'm just kidding. original poetry, no matter how daft -shudders at bachelorette contestant ryan sutter's efforts-, is welcome too. at least it's an attempt].

suddenly i have this horrible image of the computer lapsing into decay, and all my writing and poetry being lost in manner of archives [of course i have my book of messily written poetry, but it is not the same] being abolished because diaryland has run out of money. i'm such a vashti. but my writing is all i really have in the world, all i can really say is mine, because sometimes, even my heart and mind is not my own.

Oh, when I was in love with youThen I was clean and brave,
And miles around the wonder grew
How well did I behave.

And now the fancy passes by
And nothing will remain,
And miles around they'll say that I
Am quite myself again.

a.e housman

suddenly i'm feeling very lost and confused and with every thought i feel tears creeping closer. it must be the hormones. yet at the same time, i'm suddenly feeling this incredible yearning, for someone to take my hand and walk with me [not behind, not in front but beside me] into the deepest, darkest depths of my soul. someone that will stay at my side and not let go even if things get warped and scary, because i know i'm unable to discover myself alone. i'm feeling ready for this emotional rollercoaster of dips and highs, be it through myself or through another.

what am i saying.

+ posted by M @ 12:08 PM